


Threats Don't Really Cut It

by DixieDale



Series: Promises [5]
Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:47:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28482636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Major Kevin Richards had been around for awhile, had a wider than usual range of experience and acquaintances.  As a result, he knew quite a few things, possibly more than some would give the stern military officer credit for.  In this case, he knew two things for dead certain.  First, that Meghada O'Donnell, code name 'the Dragon' (though frequently called by other, less-complimentary names), was a barbarian.  Second, that the Dragon didn't usually make threats, didn't really see the point.  Of course, she didn't make all that many promises either.  But the promises she did make, she kept, whether to Richards about taking on a difficult job, to those who had taught her the code by which she lived, to a Cockney pickpocket or a Special Forces team she had developed a fondness for, or anyone else.  Even Major Richards, who rarely knew about those promises, certainly not the details of the those promises (and he really preferred it that way) admitted that was one of those 'good thing/bad thing' sort of scenarios - it depended entirely on where you stood and what the Dragon was promising.
Series: Promises [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2086632
Kudos: 1





	Threats Don't Really Cut It

They were waiting for Garrison to finish his business, give them their release, let them have a free afternoon before meeting him for the trip back to the Mansion later. He'd told them to go get coffee, that he wouldn't be long, so they sat, drank whatever the hell was in that pot, and made desultory conversation, just killing time. 

Well, mostly it was Casino talking, all about that latest blonde he'd met, their wild night together, and his plans for another wild night the next time they got leave. They listened, but really, with Casino the story was pretty much the same every time; they could have told the whole story FOR him, just substituting one woman's name for another - even had, a time or two, each taking turns for a part, just to get him riled up.

Chief was being pretty quiet, which was normal for him. Goniff was just as quiet, which wasn't so normal, though it did happen now and again. Actor was silent as well, but only because he was busy thinking about how much of his last evening with Lady Ellen he felt comfortable sharing. It would easily outdo Casino's offering, at least to his mind; still, he hesitated. His desire to be considered a gentlemen sometimes conflicted with his desire to win that 'king of the hill' game Casino was constantly playing. It was a bit of a balancing act at best. 

Goniff stiffened as the four newcomers walked into the room - inhaled sharply, then looked away quickly. They were laughing, one slapping another on the back as they noisily made their way over to the coffee pot, then to a side table and slouched into their chairs. Other than a contemptuous and knowing smirk in his direction, they took no more note of him and the team.

"That's the guys you went out with on that hush-hush job a couple weeks ago, right? Benson and his crew?" Casino asked idly, noting that interplay, Chief and Actor taking note of the question, awaiting the answer. That stiff nod seemed a little more concise that what they expected in the way of an answer, since there were no words attached. They shared a puzzled look. 

Goniff had seemed different those first few days after he got back, enough the guys had noticed. But whatever it was, the pickpocket wasn't in the mood to share, and eventually it seemed to pass, at least was starting to a little, though he was nowhere near back to his usual chattery self. They put it down to his having been out with an unknown crew for a job in the first place. The four of THEM worked well together now, trusted each other to do the job, watched each others' backs - anyone else, it was more problematic. None of them relished the experience of working with another team, that was for sure.

They WERE sent out with other teams, unfortunately, even with hastily pulled together one-time units occasionally, despite Garrison's protests. Of course, Garrison was sometimes sent out on solo missions of his own, which meant he wasn't always there to protest. Considering them, their backgrounds, their individual quirks, those forays out into the wider community of teams or even military units rarely went all that smoothly, though thankfully usually limited to some serious bitching once they got back. 

But Goniff hadn't even done that, not after the Benson job; hadn't said much of anything, in fact. Even now he wasn't back to his usual fidgety annoying familiar self, and they'd kinda wondered about that, though figuring he'd taken enough bruises in the job to subdue his mood. His face was certainly marked up enough, and they'd seen a few other signs when he was changing clothes, and his time on the obstacle course and the rope swing were so bad it had the Sergeant Major having a hissy fit til he saw some of those bruises and cut him some slack. Well, that happened to all of them on a job, that coming home all banged up like that; even a hard parachute landing left its marks, and nothing to be remarked on, not anymore, not really.

Still, although their pickpocket was obviously in a mood, well, they all had their moods, didn't intend to pry. (They'd get over that eventually, but this early on, it seemed best. Later, those boundaries would be thinned to the point of non-existence, of course.)

"Hey, there's Meghada. First time we've run into her up here," Chief noted. Although both the contract agent who made her home in Brandonshire and the team were here often enough - just, it seems, not at the same time, in the same place. Well, it had to happen eventually; she ran in Major Richards' string usually, and they had too a few times. After a rocky start, they figured out he was actually one of the better ones at the job. Whether that was to his credit or just a measure of how bad they considered some of the others to be, well, that was something they were still deciding. Only time would tell.

They didn't know the O'Donnell woman all that well, were just starting to, really, though Goniff knew her somewhat better. Not a lot, not as much as he would eventually, but somewhat.

It was one thing to see someone in the village, then to start going to her for first aid when their other sources weren't available. To find out she was working for the same bosses as they were, that had been a real shocker in the beginning, but the better they knew her, the more reasonable that seemed. Now, though, to see her here, in fighting rig, duffle in hand, obviously ready to head out for a job, it startled them.

"Bloody 'ell!" Goniff breathed in fervent protest, not even bothering with the more polite 'ruddy' he really tried to use anymore. It wasn't worth the effort, not when he saw the O'Donnell woman walking toward the table with Benson and his crew. There was a clear purpose in her approach, though he hoped against hope his first thought, that she was being sent out with the men on a job, was wrong.

He hadn't said anything before, after he'd gotten back, knowing just how little good it would do. He hadn't done anything, just folded in on himself til he felt enough in control to take the whole miserable mess and stuff it into the back of his mind with a whole bunch of other stuff he didn't want to think about.

He'd felt guilty for that, at some level, knowing his holding back wouldn't help the next one caught in their sights. Still, he knew his putting it all out there wouldn't help either, not really. His word against theirs, for one thing, and that was only the start of the list. He'd known they wouldn't like him 'accidentally' knocking over that crate, enough to startle away the pretty little French girl they'd decided was a good way to spend a few boring hours with. That wasn't a surprise, and he figured he'd get cussed out, maybe get a bruise or two, for his efforts. He hadn't been expecting their reaction, that was for sure, certainly not in the middle of a job; seems their boredom level was greater than he'd thought. He was still kinda surprised they'd let him walk away, not just iced him on the spot to prevent him from saying anything, though he figured they thought the same as him, that no one would believe him or even care. And since he doubted this was their first time at that game, it wasn't like they could keep 'losing' people along the way, just to keep things quiet. No, they were depending on other means for that; he'd heard all the laughing threats, knew they meant them.

Still, he hadn't thought about that hypothetical 'next one' being someone he knew, someone he liked, someone who had befriended him and the guys. He hadn't thought about him seeing it coming, like a freight train barrelling down the tracks, with that someone he cared about being ready to step right in front, not knowing or understanding the danger.

Now wasn't the time, he told himself urgently. Only thing it'd do would be to set Benson and his crew up against him again. Would get the other guys involved, and he'd made sure not to do that; he had made a place for himself on the team, one where he was becoming more and more comfortable. That's partly why he hadn't gone to Garrison or someone before. That's why he couldn't say or do anything now. The time would come, if he had his way, but not til this job of war was over, when whatever he did to balance things out wouldn't come down on Garrison or the guys. He couldn't mess things up for them, so he'd intended to bide his time, wait for the right time, the right way. That palm knife he tended to carry inside his tunic seemed to become extra warm with that thought, but he ignored it for now.

{"And besides, likely they wouldn't, not with her reporting to Richards and all. Maybe they wouldn't in the first place, 'er being a woman. Maybe it's all a tempest in a teapot, and I should just mind my own ruddy business!"} he told himself firmly, logically.

Somehow all that good logical thinking, all that good advice he was giving himself didn't seem to be getting through, since he found himself on his feet, already heading over to intercept the redhead while she was still several feet away from the table where Benson and the men were waiting.

"Goniff," she said with a nod, acknowledging him politely, but with not nearly the quiet smile of welcome he would have gotten at the Cottage. They were both on the job - this wasn't the garden over a pot of tea and a plate of scones. She'd not even mentioned to anyone up here that she knew anyone on Garrison's team, and wasn't going to go out of her way to do so, not outside the village. It seemed something just best left that way. 

Still, she wasn't going to ignore him, pretend he wasn't standing in front of her, though that look of - what? concern, worry, anxiety - didn't bode well. He was important to her; they all were, him especially, though she couldn't pinpoint the exact moment in time when that had happened. 

But she didn't have a lot of time. She was due to head out with this new crew, Chuck Benson being the senior, the man ramrodding the team.

"You going out with them?" Goniff asked, his voice low and harsh. 

"Aye, so it would seem," she said with a nod.

"Any way you can get out of it? Would be best if you could," he said, ducking his head slightly to hide the flush he could feel building.

That got a slight frown of her own. He had to KNOW she couldn't just back out, not if she was already here, already geared up for a job. And, why . . .

"Not without a damned good reason, probably involving a spurting artery - knowing Kevin Richards, mine, most likely," she wryly acknowledged. "I'd not like to go that far just to avoid a trip in a tin can, as much as I dislike any of the ones I've tried."

That got a miserable attempt at a grin in response to her attempt at humor, really no more than a twitch at the side of his mouth, and his eyes certainly didn't follow through.

He swallowed, nodded, and started to turn to head back to the table. Then, with one deep breath, he turned back, and quickly, as if forcing himself to do whatever it was before he lost the nerve, he resolutely told her, "then you ruddy well watch yourself around them. Not saying they'd try anything, considering, but - - - Just you watch yourself!"

She looked into those hazy blue eyes, saw the intensity behind that low warning, though his face was still maintaining a casual air. She knew he'd gone out with Benson and his crew quite recently, wondered just what had set him off about them.

Without moving her head, a side glance out of the corner of her eye told her Benson and the three men with him were watching them very carefully, exchanging a few words, their displeasure apparent even from this distance. They didn't like this conversation one little bit, that much was obvious, even though they couldn't hear what was being said.

She'd seen Goniff's teammates over at a different table; they were watching too, though cautious concern was their main expression, well mixed with bewilderment at what was going on.

"Try - try what, precisely?" she asked cautiously. Surely if the men were messing up on the assignments, knowingly or just through incompetence, Goniff would have gone to Garrison with any information he had. That meant it was more likely personal than business, though what on earth could have put that look of desperation in the man's eyes, she hesitated to guess.

He was trying to find the words, but she could see it was a struggle. The result was an attempt at a casual shrug, an even more casual smile. "Well, a woman out there, four men, anyone would tell you the same, to be careful, you know?" Those eyes weren't casual, though, as he tried to get her to understand just how dangerous that could be, all without saying too much, TELLING her too much.

She let all the pieces shuffle through her mind, what he'd said, what he hadn't said, the tension rolling off him in waves, little signals she'd picked up just from the body language in the room, and much else - let it all fall into place.

Anyone in the room could see the change, although they wouldn't have known it was the 'still as death' mode she went into when she was lining up on a target, ready to pull that trigger. It was as if she'd been turned to stone, and it lasted for several seconds before she exhaled slowly, the stone turned back to flesh, and a slow nod became her first movement since that transition.

"As careful as can be, I promise that," she offered, seeing the look of relief come to him. No, he still wasn't happy, but at least, not quite so tense with apprehension.

"Goniff? Anyone in PARTICULAR I'm to be careful of, of those four?" she asked, watching his eyes, seeing that deep convulsive swallow he gave before he shook his head as if he'd just come in out of a heavy rain, and answered.

"All of them. You watch out, be careful of ALL of them," his voice as raspy as a dull file over metal.

He started to move away, back toward his own table, and she reached out a hand to touch his shoulder gently, get his attention once more. He turned his head to look at her questioningly.

"You know Claric Street, the hospital there?" getting a cautious nod. "My brother, Patrick O'Donnell, he's a doctor. He's working there, he and his partner. He can be trusted, totally, if you should ever need him. Tell him - " and a small wry grin came to her face, "tell him 'horses really ARE green'. No, you don't need to understand, just a bit of nonsense from our childhood, but he'll know you've come from me. As I said, he can be trusted, with anything, I promise. Dragon's Promise," she assured him with just a hint of that familiar smile, though her eyes were more than serious.

Goniff just gave her a cautious look, but nodded, accepting that in the spirit it was intended. They'd had a few discussions about that, the matter of promises, and he knew she had a rock solid view of those. She was a lot like Garrison in that - didn't make many promises, never lightly, but kept the ones she did make. Well, that was her code name, after all, 'Dragon', and she'd said that before, that a Dragon's promise meant more than most might.

He didn't know he needed to go bothering any doctor; he'd made it this far without, but he'd keep it in mind. Could come in handy for the future, for him, for the others, and for all sorts of reasons. He sure as hell didn't trust the Med Unit at HQ to have their best interests at heart, would never trust them now, not under these circumstances. 

Of course, he'd intended to stop in and see Maudie at the pub before they headed back, and Claric Street was only a few streets over, and . . .

"You gonna tell us what that was about?" Casino demanded when Goniff retook his seat.

The pickpocket shrugged, "just something I forgot to say last time we met up; nothing important. Likely wasn't needed anyway, but seemed a good time to get it off my mind." 

They weren't sure that was the truth, but if he didn't want to talk about it, that was his business. They finished their coffee, noting the O'Donnell woman leaving with the Benson crew after a brief conversation.

Chief watched them head out the door. "She headed out with them?" having noticed the dirty looks the four men had aimed at Goniff during that conversation and after.

Goniff shrugged, not taking his eyes from his cup to watch them leave. 

"Seems like; didn't ask any details, and she didn't offer any. Well, ain't supposed to be talking about the jobs anyway, are we?" 

"Yeah," Chief admitted, but still uneasy about that low conversation that had gotten such attention from Benson and his men. There had been something in the air, something in the tension even now resting in their teammate's wiry shoulders. "You think that's a problem, her going out with them?" he persisted.

That sickly smile, the one shoulder shrug, didn't bode well. "W'at problem could there be? Imagine she can take care of 'erself; 'as the reputation for that. Besides, probably just a nice little walk in the park, just like w'at we're sent out on," and that was all he would say. 

Then Garrison was back, signaling them from the doorway that they were free to go their own way, as long as they were back at the appointed time.

There wasn't a lot of time to pry any more out of Goniff, as he pleaded "got someone I need to see before I meet up with you to 'ead back" and he was gone as soon as they left HQ. 

He was just as quiet when he met them at the car at the appointed time, and fell asleep in a backseat corner before they pulled out on the road back to Brandonshire. He slept all the way back, and headed for his cot as soon as Garrison had raked them over the coals for that last bit of mischief. He'd barely moved all night. Even those troubled dreams that had plagued the pickpocket since his return seemed to stay away, Chief realized. 

Well, Chief had slept lighter the past few nights, ready to reach out a steadying hand to his teammate if it should be needed, if those dreams got too strong. He had been awake now, silently watching when Goniff DID stir, the pickpocket carefully reaching under the pillow without making a sound, shaking out one small pill from that vial, swallowing the dose down without water, then easing back down, slowly and carefully, to sleep again.

And although he wondered, Chief didn't ask.

There'd been no trouble, not of the kind Goniff had cautioned her about. She really hadn't expected any, considering the reputation she'd worked so hard to garner. While there were those at HQ who might challenge her on that - certainly there were strangers who did - most of the teams were well aware of her reputation for not abiding anything personal, her rather stern way of dealing with any such approaches. Some might not like her boundaries, but they respected them, if for no other reason than not wanting to experience the consequences.

Still, it wasn't as if she'd dismissed his words, his warnings. No, she gave them considerable thought, and far more than just in keeping an eye to her own safety. 

They were four days into the mission, the target perhaps another six or seven hours ahead. The trail parted, one bending sharply to the right, the other veering slightly to the left.

She'd paused, perhaps for too long, pondering the possibilities. Ahead, on the left, she could sense the danger there; probably a nice little ambush. The right was clear, her intuition told her, which bore out the information from their contact. 

{"Which way, which way?"} she mused, temptation nagging at her. Decisions, decisions, and still the target WAS several hours away, the job still to be done, and one she would be hard-pressed to do alone.

Benson snapped, "can't you remember which is the right way? Come on, we have to get moving!" 

He couldn't understand it; she'd not hesitated before, making each course change as if she had a map built into her head. Well, they'd known the way would be tricky, but Richards had assured him that she was a real marvel at this - could handle even the highly-complicated directions given them by the Underground - directions, contacts, passwords, and much else, all committed to her highly-trained memory. Benson knew HE'D started getting confused about a third of the way through that litany and map-pointing and all the rest.

Now, as he watched her turn her head toward him slowly, eyes glinting in the dim shadows, he became uneasy. He'd stopped worrying early on, when she hadn't acted any differently toward him or his guys than in their previous meeting. No matter what that damned Cockney might have told her, it seems it wasn't anything important enough to set her on edge. Well, and there shouldn't have been, not where she was concerned. Even without that knife-in-the-gut rep of her, they knew Richards would have a cow, moralistic bastard that he was. No, Benson always made sure to target only those who didn't pose any real threat in return - those who wouldn't say anything, those who wouldn't be believed even if anyone gave a damn about them in the first place. Someone like that little French girl on her way down that lonely street. Someone like that interferring little Cockney who'd thought he'd spoil their fun, not realizing the position that would leave him in. Still, seeing the woman talking with the pickpocket, comfortable, like they knew each other, that had given Benson a few bad moments. What if . . . 

Soon he'd realized how foolish it had been, even worrying about that. He just couldn't imagine the con admitting to anything that had happened, especially to a woman, especially to an agent. If Garrison's pickpocket was going to say anything, it would have been right after they got back, not that it was likely he'd be believed, not all of it anyway. Hell, any of it, not with all four of them telling the same story. Yeah, maybe he'd run into trouble, but any trouble the fool had gotten into, it wasn't while he was with them; they'd swear that on a stack of Bibles or anything else, not that Benson could see it coming to that.

Still, there was something in the stillness of her eyes, the way they seemed to look into his, through him - something in that faint note of regret in her face.

"Oh, I remember the right way. I can't say I'm overly happy that I remember, but there it is, I suppose. Once you remember, you can't just pretend you haven't, you know." 

Yes, there was MORE than a note of regret in that confusing statement, thought he couldn't see why she would regret remembering the right way out of this maze.

Meghada knew he was confused, was really tempted to explain matters to him, but sadly, this was not the right time or place for an explanation of any sort. Still, left or right - a German ambush waiting ahead or safe passage - it really shouldn't have been even worth CONSIDERING which to direct these men toward, but the choice had honestly been one of the harder ones she'd had to make in recent years.

She honored and respected her teachers, old Baldric as much if not more than any. It wasn't easy, teaching the ethics of the Clan, especially the sort he was in charge of conveying to his students. Still, she really wished she'd been absent that day when he'd discussed how what might be quite acceptable during battle, during war, was totally unacceptable during other times. 

Well, no, maybe not that whole lecture - none of Baldric's lectures were without considerable merit - but that section on how, even during wartime, there were issues that truly were, at the heart, personal; issues for which those same ethical boundaries did not apply, when others must be put into place instead.

And just to make sure everyone had been paying attention, there was that ceremony when the months of classes ended, the one where the students followed Baldric in promising to faithfully remember the divisions, and to abide by the strictures, the guidelines that ruled each, to the best of their abilities. It had been a memorable ceremony, one involving their own voluntary adding to that ancient bronze cup with a measure of their own blood, that blood then being shared amongst them all. They each bore the scar on their wrist from that, a scar prevented from ever healing by the ceremonial rubbing in of that ointment just for that purpose. Truly, when the Clan wanted you to REMEMBER something, they did go to some pains to make sure you DID remember.

If this had been an enemy unit, that sudden urge to direct them on into the ambush waiting ahead, that would have been a totally acceptable thing. But, since these were men fighting on the same side she was contracted to, that would not even be a grey area, unfortunately. 

Yes, it would be much more pleasing to have missed that day in class, much more in keeping with her innermost inclinations. 

Oh, well, it wasn't as if the issue would go unaddressed; she would get around to it when she had the leisure and fewer constraints. She promised herself that, and a Dragon always kept their promises. For right now, there was a job to do; that was what they were paying her for, after all.

It was Major Kevin Richards who heard that outraged complaint from Major Benson upon their return. It was Major Richards who looked at the fuming man with apparent total incomprehension. 

(He was rather pleased with himself; after all, that wasn't a facial expression he used frequently - hardly ever, in fact. He considered himself lucky in that regard, to have discovered so many apt teachers over the years, even if they WERE turning his hair silver years before his time.)

"Threats, Major? What sort of threats? I'm afraid I don't understand," he offered mildly.

He listened to the sputtering explanation, and while inwardly he winced, he kept a calm demeanor. It hadn't been easy; that description had been cringe-worthy to the extreme.

"She said that? My goodness. I wonder what on earth would have caused her to even think in those terms? It hardly seems likely, I would think, even from the Dragon. So very, um, graphic, you see. Are you quite sure that is what she said?" he asked, emulating one of the denser individuals he knew, in particular a certain colonel he tried to avoid for fear of becoming unbearably stupid merely by strength of proximity.

Benson's voice was raised as he repeated that dire proclamation; Richards noted it included some bodily mutilation of a highly personal kind, resulting in Benson performing acts on himself that you would think physically impossible. {"Although that mutilation probably would make it feasible,"}, the major mused silently. Add in a couple of sharp stakes, one several feet tall and it was an interesting picture. Seemingly it had all rounded off with a crisp "leaving you to dangle on a hillside somewhere til the crows feast on your eyes and the ants pick the last of the flesh from your bones!" {"Yes, most graphic!"} 

Richards supposed he should have felt some sympathy, at least with Benson's frustration at him seemingly being so dense as not to understand the enormity of that picture. And he would have, if he hadn't known the Dragon quite well, knew it would take something of equal enormity, at least in her own mind, to have her issue such a proclamation. 

Yes, it was barbaric in the extreme, what she'd told the major, but Richards had few illusions where Meghada O'Donnell was concerned. She was, to his mind, the very epitome of a barbarian, {"a Barbarian Queen, rather than that 'Ice Queen' some have decided to call her"} although a highly-educated barbarian who was skilled in the social graces and who frequently dressed in more civilized, even elegant, attire. That perhaps her two younger sisters might even top her there, in their claim to that description, that was only a suspicion so far, so he allowed her the ranking title until he knew otherwise.

He worked very hard at keeping that dense expression on his face, though adding a strong firmness, a total denial into the mix.

"Of course, this is the Dragon, and she does have a certain reputation. Although, I must insist, Major Benson, not for threats, hardly ever indulges in those, in fact." 

Benson was now squawking in his indignation, repeating the more salient points delivered after they were finished with their debriefing. 

Richards allowed his look of denial to die away, drifting into a momentary confusion, shifting to an obvious 'aha!' moment, before moving forward to a confident and reassuring look. {"I believe I really AM getting quite good at this!"}

"There, you see, Major. You are quite mistaking the matter, just as I was certain you must be. The Dragon does not DEAL in threats; is rather contemptuous of the entire notion, you see. I believe she told me once that *"threats are much overrated; they rarely get results since they can't really MAKE someone else either take action or refrain from action. That is a common miscomprehension, I believe. Even a pointed gun will not do that; all the one with the gun can do is shoot, after all, and if the other is willing to accept that, it has little or no effect on their behavior."* No, no, Major Benson, I am sure you are mistaken.. I really doubt that was a threat. 

"A promise, now," Richards said, a pompous and very thoughtful look on his face, "I can see it being THAT, possibly. She DOES believe in promises, you see; makes very few of those either, never casually; tends to keep any she makes, of course, or so has been my experience. I do suppose she included a caveat, something which might make the necessity for her carrying out such a dire promise - well, unnecessary? I certainly DO hope so."

Benson wasn't willing to go into that snarled warning, received after that firm tap on his back as they were heading from the docks to their transport to HQ - "Oh, by the way, Major Benson, if you and your men even look in Goniff's direction again, any of you - him or any others of the teams. Bloody hell, not to confuse you, let's just make it a nice, even, uncomplicated 'ANYONE'! Then this I promise you, and make you no doubts about it, Major Benson - " and then had come that horrifying description of the repercussions of such an action. Followed by an unsettling, "and don't think I'm happy to leave it at that! If I had my way, there would be no waiting, no 'if'; I would be sorting out the details, finding the right blade, sharpening the stakes and finding a nice hillside even as we speak! Unfortunately, for my satisfaction - though fortunately for you and your men - I was an ever-diligent student with near perfect attendance at my classes. Only that, Major - only that . . .!" No, he wouldn't be repeating that detail; certainly had no intention of going into the REASON for that warning either. He had a feeling pompous, straight-laced, by-the-book Major Richards wouldn't understand, might even get all pissy and come down AGAINST Benson!

Of course, Richards' reaction couldn't possibly match what he'd seen from that female called the Dragon. He remembered too clearly - he'd started to protest with high indignation, started to demand, (then quickly deny) "just what nonsense did he tell you . . ." when there came that snarl again, that glimpse of teeth that suddenly seemed far too sharp, oddly-glowing eyes in which that underlying fury was no longer restrained. 

He decided discretion was the better part of valor, at least in this instance, and turned and immediately wheeled off to voice his complaints to Major Richards, a few marks senior to his own status, who had been Handler for both the Dragon AND his team on this mission. Surely RICHARDS could put a muzzle on her!

Sitting at his desk, a month or two later, Major Kevin Richards sipped a drink he'd poured from that bottle he kept in the bottom of his desk while he mentally practiced his lines. Oh, he'd read the communique, knew the particulars. He knew to keep his part simple, keep it vague; he'd learned from the best, after all.

"Benson and his team? Oh, yes. Too bad, there. You see, there was a request from another area, they went in as replacements for a unit being pulled out of rotation due to injuries. Unfortunately, it seems they ran into some trouble there. Not quite sure what, but, well, fortunes of war, you know. Risky at best, of course, even if you do stay within the lines; Benson was warned about that, several times in fact." 

{"Yes, that should do the job - just enough, not too much,"} he mused as he took another sip of the whiskey.

Had Richards wondered at that suggestion for Benson's team to be the one to replace Connelly's unit? Not really. After all, it did make sense, and one unit was much like the other, at least in the number of men involved, the talents involved. And she'd even issued that very stern and sensible cautionary bit of advice, that Benson and his men be given strict warnings about the boundaries of the situation they were entering into, the repercussions possible from ignoring those boundaries. That had been quite reasonable, even kind on her part, he supposed. {"Well, no, 'kind' isn't really the word."}

That look in the Dragon's eyes when she'd made that recommendation had been one of satisfaction, not in the least benevolent, the satisfaction only increasing when he'd agreed Benson and his team would be quite suitable. It had been a look he had no intention of pursuing the meaning of, certainly. 

Yes, that had been a dangerous rotation, not only in the job but in the delicate politics involved, but there was no reason Benson and his men shouldn't have managed as well as any others, not if they had been respectful of the local boundaries, the varied personalities and cultures involved. It would appear they'd made rather a shambles of it, somehow. At least that was the impression he'd gotten. Well, being found - eventually, that is - staked upright over a handy ant hill, along with various other indignities that had been hinted at from what little remained of the four, that would seem to point in that direction. Pity, of course.

And if his mind went back to a certain promise from a certain Dragon of his acquaintance, it was only in passing. He was quite aware of her location for those intervening weeks, after all - he'd assigned her to most of them, and in quite a different part of the world. Simply a coincidence, he was certain. And once he returned to his flat for the night and had another three drinks, it was hardly even a faint memory, except to serve as a reminder to walk carefully around the Dragon, indeed around all the members of Clan O'Donnell. The association formed so many years ago between himself and the Clan, while certainly educational and rewarding in various ways, was occasionally worrisome as well. He'd learned to step cautiously. Oh, he'd annoyed them in the past, on various occasions, but never to the point of delivering such dire promises, a fact for which he was eternally grateful. After all, they might make few promises, but the ones they made, they kept.


End file.
